


iterum libertas

by tiigi



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Miscommunication, Roman Holiday AU, Royalty, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:28:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25334665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiigi/pseuds/tiigi
Summary: Mark doesn’t make a habit of picking up strangers in town, especially not if they’re so wasted they can’t remember where they live. He’s a busy man and he leads a stressful life and people passed out drunk on park benches, Mark believes, are not his problem.Which is why it’s so strange that he can’t ignore this one particular guy.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor
Comments: 40
Kudos: 112





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was rewatching Roman Holiday with my friend and I couldn’t get this idea out of my head :’)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Mark doesn’t make a habit of picking up strangers in town, especially not if they’re so wasted they can’t remember where they live. He’s a busy man and he leads a stressful life and people passed out drunk on park benches, Mark believes, are not his problem. 

Which is why it’s so strange that he can’t ignore this one particular guy. 

He sees him on the way back from work. It’s been a tough week; he’s written two articles about celebrity break ups - the  _ same fucking break up  _ \- and one further story about why bananas might actually be bad for you. He’s bored out of his fucking mind.

Maybe that’s why he stops for the drunk guy in the park– he just wants a little excitement. It’s been so long since Mark did anything just for the hell of it, just to see what could happen, and so instead of walking right past him like he probably should, he wanders over.

The closer he gets, the more Mark can see. The man isn’t properly passed out like he first thought - instead he’s murmuring things to himself under his breath that Mark can’t quite make out, even when he’s right next to the guy. He’s also younger than Mark first expected, and more put together…

The more Mark assesses the man in front of him, the less things start to make sense. Aside from his messy hair, the guy looks neat and well dressed. He’s wearing black slacks with a white button up shirt that’s still tucked into his pants. His eyes are heavy lidded but they’re open, and he doesn’t pay any attention to Mark when he sidles over.

“Hey,” Mark starts, cautious. “You alright there?”

“Tired,” the man replies promptly, voice clear despite how wasted he clearly is, as though he’s declaring something. Mark can’t help but laugh a little at how bizarre the situation is.

“Ah, I see.” He nods, as though this is a perfectly acceptable response. “Is that why you’re sleeping on a park bench?”

“M’not  _ sleeping,”  _ The man replies. Mark can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “I’m just… resting my legs.”

“Because you’re tired.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Real tired.” All of a sudden the man is tipping to the side, head coming to rest on Mark’s shoulder like they’ve known each other all their lives. Mark stiffens, shocked and confused. What is he supposed to do now? He doesn’t want to stay out here all night but is he really going to be the asshole that disturbs the stranger sleeping on his shoulder? 

“Maybe you should get home then,” Mark suggests, pushing gently at the man’s head so he can escape without too much of a problem.

So far, all of the man’s responses have been quiet and simple, so Mark certainly isn’t expecting the groan he gets as a reply to that. “No!” The stranger says, almost as though he’s whining. “Not going home. Can’t go home.”

Mark frowns. That’s… not what he’d been hoping to hear. He can’t leave this guy here alone in the cold all night - it’s not a particularly dangerous part of town but anything could happen, and Mark would never forgive himself if he could have stopped it.

He hasn’t even considered the fact that this man might not have a home to go back to. He knows a few shelters in New York but they’re ages away and he’d need a car to get there, especially if his new friend is wasted and staggering along next to him. Mark could probably pick him up and carry him bridal style to save time, but that’s not exactly how he’d pictured his evening going.

“Do you have somewhere to stay?” Mark asks, enunciating each word because the man’s eyes are starting to slip closed again and he doesn’t want to waste time. 

“Right here.” He pats the bench underneath him and Mark sighs, long suffering. It looks like this is happening after all.

He flags down a taxi pretty easily, even though it’s late at night and they aren’t in a busy area. The driver is nice enough to wait while Mark coaxes the man to his feet and leads him into the car; he probably looks like a creep doing it, but the driver doesn’t comment so Mark tries not to feel too bad about it. He’s doing a nice thing, he reminds himself. He didn’t have to bother.

“Do you have any money?” He asks the stranger. After a few moments of silence, Mark reaches over and grips the guy’s face, thumb and forefinger digging into his cheeks just slightly. He’s well and truly asleep now - Mark has no chance.

“Fine then,” Mark mutters to himself. “No worries. This one’s on me, pal, you just sleep it off.” He fishes a few bills from his wallet and hands them to the driver through the window. “Could you just take him to the nearest overnight shelter? Thanks.”

He’s about to turn and go when the driver catches his sleeve. “My cab isn’t for sleeping,” she says, jerking her head at the man in the back. He’s resting his forehead against the window and his steady breathing is digging up the glass. He’s kind of adorable, Mark thinks briefly, and then pushes the thought from his mind to focus on the problem at hand. 

“I don’t know him,” Mark tries to say, as though that’s any help at all. “He’s not my responsibility. I met him, like, five minutes ago.”

The woman shrugs. “Sorry,” she says. “But I’m not taking him anywhere like that.”

Mark exhales slowly through his mouth, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could just pull the guy out of the cab and leave him on the park bench for a night. He’ll probably be fine. It’s not that cold out tonight…

But he can’t do that. Of course he can’t. He’s a jerk, but not  _ that  _ much of a jerk. Mark has never been in this situation before, but it probably won’t be that hard to deal with. He just has to… compromise.

“Fine,  _ fine,”  _ he says, throwing his hands up and crawling into the back seat next to the man in question. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just take him back to my place.”

He’s kind of hoping that she’ll take pity on him and break her ‘no sleepers’ rule, even as she’s keying Mark's address into the satnav. Apparently he’s all out of luck though, because the next thing he knows he’s leaning across the middle seat to pull the guy’s seat belt around him, and then they’re pulling away from the curb and Mark’s fate is sealed.

***

Mark tries his luck again when the taxi pulls up outside his apartment. The guy is still sleeping in the back - only now he’s shifted to rest his head on Mark’s shoulder again. The driver turns to face them as soon as she’s parked.

“Don’t even try it,” she says as soon as she sees the look on Mark’s face. His shoulders droop.

“I’m owed some serious good karma after this,” he mutters, unstrapping the stranger he’s about to take home and tapping him on the shoulder. “Hey. Dude, hey, wake up.”

He stirs a little bit, eyes fluttering open. His pupils are huge, Mark notices. 

“No, thank you,” He says after a few seconds, and Mark sighs.

“Come on then.” 

After five minutes of coaxing, bargaining with and at some points straight up pushing him forward, Mark manages to get the man inside his apartment block and into the elevator. He’s beginning to look pale and a little shaky on his legs, so Mark hooks the guy’s arm over his shoulders.

“Don’t throw up on me,” he says, though he doubts the guy is sober enough to pay any attention. “They won’t clean the elevator for months and we’d have to live with the smell.”

Mark is kind of hoping for a laugh at least, but when he looks over, it’s clear to see why there’s no response. The man has completely fallen asleep , knees a little crooked, head hanging down so that his chin touches his chest. He’s only kept upright thanks to Mark supporting his weight.

“Jesus,” Mark groans. He can’t believe he’s doing this. What started out as a somewhat guilt induced conversation with a drunk guy has somehow turned into giving a possibly drugged runaway somewhere to sleep. Without thinking about it too much - because if he does he’ll only start to doubt himself - Mark bends down a little and gets an arm under the man’s knees, scooping him up off the floor and carrying him bridal style once again towards his apartment.

Mark is a pretty fit guy and this man is skinny enough that Mark can carry him without a problem. Looking at him this way, Mark can’t help but notice some of the details he missed before: the dusting of freckles over the guy’s nose, the way his eyelashes fan over his cheeks. He’s pretty, and the thought makes Mark blush even though there’s no one around to see him being weird.

Mark would probably place him at around twenty one or twenty two. He’d look even younger if not for the hints of stubble around his jawline, and Mark wonders what the hell could have happened that would lead to him sleeping in a park. He’d sounded so genuinely devastated when Mark had suggested he go home. Should Mark call the police? What would he say? Something tells him they wouldn’t react well to, ‘I kind of kidnapped someone and they’re wasted and I think they might be living in a bad situation’.

“Fuck,” Mark breathes, trying to move as carefully as possible without jostling the man in his arms. “Who are you?”

To Mark’s surprise, the man frowns in his sleep and shifts a little. His head presses against Mark’s chest and he smacks his lips before saying, “That’s ‘your highness’ to you. But… you can call me Ethan.”

Mark pauses a second to comprehend, and then lets out a short bark of laughter. “Wish I had what you’re on, kid.” He shakes his head, carefully setting the man - who he is now assuming is called Ethan - upright again whilst he fumbles for his keys. 

As soon as the door is open, Ethan pushes his way inside and flops face down onto Mark’s bed. Mark’s apartment isn’t huge - he’s been waiting for his ‘big break’ for three years now - and he figured it would be easier to just dump all his belongings into one room until he can find a better place. He was naive enough to think that he wouldn’t be living here for long. Three years later and his bed is still only a metre away from his front door, his bathroom still doesn’t have a lock on it and he’s still using old bed covers as curtains. 

“That’s– uh, that’s actually my bed,” Mark says awkwardly, hovering by the door. “I can make up a bed on the sofa for you– or I guess you could just… sleep there. That works too.”

Ethan doesn’t move. Mark loses faith pretty quickly. He’s not going to have a good night's sleep tonight and he’s accepted that already.

“Fine, no worries I guess.” He rolls Ethan over gently onto his back and pulls a blanket over him, not even bothering to take his shoes off. He’ll just change the sheets as soon as Ethan is on his way tomorrow morning. “I’ll sleep on the couch. Not like it’s my apartment or anything.”

Even as he’s grumbling to himself about everything, he’s making up a less comfortable sofa bed for himself. He has to be at work early tomorrow morning and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do about Ethan when the time comes, but right now he’s too tired to worry about it. He just wants to sleep.

Mark leans over to plug his phone in to charge, and as he’s pulling away he catches sight of the newspaper on his bedside table. It’s from yesterday, and he hasn’t had a chance to read it yet, but the picture on the front cover captures his attention and he can’t help but stare, frozen in place. 

“What the fuck?” He whispers, breath catching in his throat. Goosebumps pop up on his arms and he sits up suddenly. 

The headline reads,  _ ‘Royal Visit Gone Awry?’  _ As Mark skims further down the article, he begins to feel more and more like this is a dream.  _ ‘The Nestor family’s royal visit to New York was not off to a good start yesterday when an argument between the King and his youngest son, Prince Ethan, 22, was captured on film.’ _

Mark couldn’t care less about the rest of the article. His eyes are drawn to what caught his attention in the first place: a blurry still frame of the recording. Mark recognises the King from news articles and paparazzi pictures.

He’s more concerned about the fact that Ethan is the one arguing with him.

Ethan.  _ Prince  _ Ethan, who is well dressed and well spoken and who can’t go home. Prince Ethan, who just told Mark to say ‘your highness’. Prince Ethan, who is currently in Mark’s fucking bed.

Mark pokes his head up, squinting in the darkness to try and see if Ethan is awake. All he can make out is a heap of blankets and a vague body shape underneath.

“Ethan?” He says softly, waiting for the sleepy groan that follows. He’s clearly still asleep, but lucid enough to respond to Mark’s questions. Mark’s not a creepy guy exactly, but he is a reporter. He’ll take what he can get. 

Mark only hesitates a little before he says, “Your majesty?”

At first, he doesn’t think Ethan will respond. Maybe he got this all wrong– maybe this Ethan just happens to look extraordinarily like Prince Ethan Nestor, and they just happened to be in the same place at the same time. Maybe everything is just one big coincidence, and this Ethan just likes being referred to as royalty. Maybe…

Then Ethan rolls over and says, “What is it?” And any credible deniability Mark could have clung to disappears.

So far, this evening has turned out to be far more eventful than Mark was expecting. 


	2. Chapter 2

Mark barely gets any sleep.

He’s too on edge to sleep. He keeps trying to figure out what this means for him, for  _ Ethan,  _ but all he ends up doing is scaring himself. What happens when Ethan wakes up and finds himself in a stranger’s apartment? Will Mark he arrested? He could claim that he didn’t know, but it wouldn’t seem very believable with Ethan’s paparazzi photo on his bedside table.

He gets maybe a few hours of restless sleep - Ethan doesn’t stir throughout the night but Mark can’t help his curiosity. He watches him sleep, watches his slow, steady inhale-exhale as the blankets rise and fall. He’s still awake when the sun comes up in the early hours of the morning, and he decides there’s no point in trying to get any more rest. 

He gets up carefully, quietly, so as not to wake Ethan. There’s no kitchen in Mark’s apartment and he figures he should at the very least present Ethan with breakfast to make up for the fact that he kidnapped him last night. He’s royalty– he’s probably used to being waited on twenty four-seven. Maybe it’ll detract from Mark’s inevitable punishment.

He sneaks out at just past seven. Ethan is still asleep and Mark probably doesn’t have to worry about him waking up before he gets back. If he was as wasted as he looked last night, he won’t be up for a while.

It’s incredible how different the world can look after something crazy happens, Mark thinks. People are walking around like normal, rushing back and forth to get their stalls set up and their businesses opened, and Mark watches them do it just like be always has, but he doesn’t feel like one of them anymore. He has a secret that’s so monumental it feels like a lie.

Mark’s secret just happens to be asleep in his bed, but nobody else needs to know that.

He hurries to the nearest bakery he can find and picks up a croissant and a coffee. Ethan is probably used to the finest foods around, but Mark has no idea what he should be getting. It’s probably a safe bet to go with caffeine, at the very least.

He also picks up a pack of aspirin while he’s out, because Ethan is going to have one hell of a headache when he wakes up. He feels guilty all the while, as he picks his things off the shelf, as he carries them towards the till, as he thanks the server. He feels like everyone can just take one look at him and know he’s hiding something.

As he passes the exit, he pauses for a moment and backtracks, a sudden thought occurring to him. The newspapers are stored right by the door and he crouches down to look at the front pages, just to see if anything has happened. Maybe he’s paranoid, thinking that someone could have figured him since he went home last night, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Sure enough, he spots something pretty quickly. It isn’t a front page headline, thank god, and there’s no picture this time, but it’s still fairly eye-catching. The title reads,  _ ‘Prince Ethan Taken Ill - Withdraws from Royal Family Interviews’.  _

Mark freezes, an idea occurring to him. He realises all at once, so suddenly that he can’t believe he didn’t think of this sooner.

He’s been waiting for his big break for three years now. He’s been writing shitty celebrity gossip articles that no one really cares about, living in a two room apartment with blankets for curtains, hoping that one day his luck might change.

Maybe Mark has been going about this all wrong. He’s been looking at this as a problem, as bad luck. He’s been feeling guilty and scared and paranoid about what’s going to happen to him if people find out when he should have been focusing on  _ how  _ people find out.

He can  _ sell  _ this. This is a story, and it’s a really fucking good one. This can be Mark’s big break. All he has to do is take a few photos of Ethan - preferably without him knowing, as creepy as that makes Mark feel - and spin the story to make it a little more glamorous, and Mark will have a front page spread. He’s been waiting years for the perfect story, and just like that it fell right into his lap.

He leaves the store as fast as he can, desperate to get home. Before, he’d been hoping Ethan would leave soon. Now, he’s terrified that he has. It’s irrational, because Mark has only been gone about fifteen minutes and Ethan was pretty heavily asleep when he left, but Mark is just so scared that this opportunity will slip through his fingers somehow that he doesn’t want to risk it. He runs the last little distance, taking the steps two at a time and bursting into his apartment.

He has to double over to catch his breath, of course, but it’s worth it when he sees Ethan is still there.

He’s moved a little since Mark left, which probably means he’s going to wake up soon. The blanket has been thrown off and he has a little frown etched onto his face, eyebrows drawn together. Mark circles the bed quietly and perches on the edge, resting a hand gently on Ethan’s shoulder. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, heart thumping. He’s so nervous, and he has no idea how Ethan will react to waking up in a strange place, but it’s got to be worth a try for the story he could get. “Hey, Ethan, wake up.”

Ethan moans sleepily and buries his head in the pillow. “Go ‘way,” he says. Mark smiles to himself before he even realises he’s doing it. Ethan is… cute. He can admit that. 

“Come on,” he urges, shaking him a little more firmly. Ethan groans and turns onto his back, throwing an arm across his eyes like the sunlight hurts him. “You gotta wake up.”

“Uh, what?” Ethan groans, without opening his eyes. He doesn’t even give Mark a chance to respond before he’s continuing his sleepy drabble. “I was having a really weird dream.”

Mark pauses. “Oh yeah?” He says slowly, hopefully enough to prompt an explanation. An insider scoop on Prince Ethan’s dreams isn’t something to be ignored.

But then Ethan just nods and says, “Yeah. I was outside, and this guy was talking to me. He was really  _ mean.” _

“Mean?” Mark repeats, feeling almost indignant even though he shouldn’t. “I wasn’t  _ mean.  _ What was I supposed to do– leave you out there?”

Ethan freezes. His face goes slack and slowly, slowly, his eyes open. He takes one look at Mark and gulps.

“Oh…” he says. “Oh, fuck.”

“Good morning to you too.”

Mark’s joke, apparently, doesn’t land very well. Ethan jolts upright like he’s been electrocuted and his head whips back and forth like he’s checking for an escape route. He might be, Mark reminds himself. He’s probably never, ever been in a situation where he doesn’t know where he is, or at least where he isn’t surrounded by people prepared to die for him. Mark’s shitty apartment must be one hell of a downgrade.

“Where the fuck am I?” Ethan demands finally, turning to Mark, eyes blazing. He still hasn’t gotten out of bed, but instead he’s pulled the covers up to his chin and tucked his legs to his chest protectively. “Who are you? I– I have money I can give you! There will be people looking for me. I–”

“Jesus!” Mark exclaims, cutting Ethan’s rambling off. “Calm down, would you? I’m not gonna kill you, jeez. You’re in my apartment. I took you here last night because you were sleeping on the street, and I thought you might get a better night’s sleep in an actual bed.” He gives Ethan a moment to absorb this information before he adds, “Well, actually I was kind of hoping you’d sleep on the couch, but you took over the bed pretty quickly, so.”

Ethan’s cheeks flush at that. He looks Mark up and down suspiciously, but at least he doesn’t look like he might attack at any moment anymore. “Who are you, then?” He asks, jutting his chin at Mark.

“Oh, I’m Mark.” He holds out his hand. Ethan glares at it for a second before he reaches out tentatively and shakes Mark’s hand. His grip is loose and he pulls his hand back as soon as possible. “You mind telling me who you are, now?” Mark continues.

Ethan looks up sharply, and this is when Mark holds his breath. He feels like the lie will be obvious, like his intentions will be clear on his face. Ethan will take one look at Mark and know what he’s trying to do.

But then Ethan’s lips twitch with the ghost of a smile and he looks down, hiding his face. When he looks up again, something has changed. It’s like his barriers have dropped. He’s smiling, just a little, and he doesn’t look so panicked anymore. Guilt settles like an anchor in the pit of Mark’s stomach, and he fights to ignore it.

“I’m Ethan,” he says softly. “It’s, uh, nice to meet you, Mark.”

“Nice to meet you too, Ethan. Despite the circumstances.”

Ethan winces. “I’m really sorry about that. I was feeling claustrophobic and I kind of just… ran away from school. My doctor gave me something to help me sleep, which is why I was probably all loopy. I hope I didn’t do anything embarrassing.”

Mark laughs. It’s an interesting lie he’s going with, but it’s not like Mark can blame him. He’d probably buy it, if he hadn’t seen Ethan’s picture in the paper.

Shit, the  _ paper.  _ It’s still next to the couch where Mark slept last night. If Ethan sees that, not only will the ruse be over but Mark will look even creepier for going along with it in the first place. 

“Sounds like a fancy school,” Mark comments, edging towards the sofa. If he can just kick the paper underneath the couch before Ethan notices anything’s wrong, he’ll be fine.

“Yeah,” Ethan says, looking down. His face falls momentarily. “I should probably be getting back soon.”

_ No.  _ Mark can’t let that happen. “What, so soon?” He says. He probably sounds as alarmed as he feels, because Ethan frowns. Mark clears his throat and tries again. “You have classes on a Saturday or something?”

“No…” he draws the word out. He’s hesitant to stay, Mark can tell, but he also seems reluctant to leave. Mark can use that reluctance to his advantage. 

“Seems like a shitty way to spend your morning, is all I’m saying.” He shrugs, finally managing to kick the paper under the sofa and half turning away from Ethan to allow for the illusion of privacy. There isn’t any space for real privacy in this apartment, but staring at each other is too intense. “Oh, I got you this, by the way.”

Ethan’s curiosity shifts to something sweeter, something calmer, when he sees the breakfast Mark is holding out to him. He takes the coffee gratefully and finishes it in under thirty seconds, despite the fact that it must still be hot. Mark is reminded of the painkillers in his pocket.

“How’s your head?” He asks, wincing when Ethan tears into the croissant. There will be pastry flakes all over his bed now, but he doesn’t want to say anything and risk scaring Ethan away.

“Huh?”

“I got you some aspirin in case you needed it. I kind of thought you were just drunk, y’know?”

“I wasn’t,” Ethan says, immediately defensive. “It was–”

“Your doctor, I know.” Mark nods. “They sound controlling.”

“They are,” Ethan says miserably. Mark’s heart pangs unexpectedly. He never considered  _ why _ Ethan would run away - especially from the luxury he must experience day to day - but sitting in Mark’s bed with his lips twisted and his eyes all big and watery, Mark feels terrible for him. He looks so small and lost– Mark just wants to pull him into a bear hug and keep him safe.

Even though, eventually, he’ll be betraying Ethan himself. The irony doesn’t escape him.

“I’m sorry,” Mark says, voice soft and considerate. “That sucks.”

Ethan shrugs and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. He pauses as soon as he’s done it and looks at Mark carefully from under his eyelashes, as though he’s waiting for a reprimand. It never comes, and he smiles to himself like a secret. 

“Why not quit?” Mark asks. He knows he can only ask in a roundabout way that won’t make Ethan suspicious, but he hopes for a genuine answer. He’s interested.

“What?”

“Why not drop out? You don’t  _ have  _ to stay there.”

“I do,” Ethan replies. “It’s not… it’s not like you think. They all want the best for me there. Sometimes they’re just overprotective, you know?”

“I get that,” Mark says, nodding sagely.

“You do?”

“Yeah, I can’t blame them. You look like  _ such  _ a delicate flower.”

“I do not!” Ethan exclaims, hands curling into fists and pushing against the mattress. When he realises Mark is joking, his cheeks flush and he scowls, looking away. “I was right. You  _ are  _ mean.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Mark says, still chuckling. Watching Ethan get mad is like watching a kitten throw a temper tantrum; Mark wonders if he’s ever had to get angry before, or if all he has to do is demand things and he gets what he wants. Apparently not, if he’s sitting here.

“You probably think I’m an asshole,” Ethan mumbles. He’s finished eating, and now he sits cross legged with his hands in his lap. “It’s not like I’m not grateful for them. I just… there are so many things I want to  _ do,  _ y’know? And I’ll just never get the chance if I’m always surrounded by them. The rules are so strict and I wish– I wish just once I could make my own rules. Follow my own schedule.”

Mark listens and nods sympathetically. He actually means it as well, he’s not just pretending to make Ethan feel better. Mark hates going by his boss’ rules - it makes him feel claustrophobic and angry all the time - and he only has to see his boss while he’s at work. He can’t imagine what it must be like to live like that twenty four-seven.

“Or not at all,” Mark suggests tentatively, after Ethan’s silence stretches a beat too long.

“What?”

“You wouldn’t have to follow a schedule at all,” Mark tells him. “You could just do whatever you want.”

Ethan smiles, but the twist of his lips is bitter. “That would be nice,” he says.

“So do it.” Mark gets close to Ethan, sliding onto the bed with one leg bent and the other dangling over the edge. The position is familiar and intimate in a way that doesn’t make Ethan pull away. “You could do it today. Don’t go back till the evening, spend the day doing whatever you want. Doesn’t that sound good?”

Ethan seems mesmerised, eyes never once leaving Mark’s. His lips are slightly parted and he’s clearly excited at the suggestion. He’s coming round to it, Mark can tell. 

“It would be…” he says, his grin lopsided. “But I don’t have any money or anything. I never carry money on me.”

“Oh,” Mark says, delighted at how well this has turned out for him. “Well, hey, I mean, I don’t have anything on today. If you don’t mind me crashing your party, I could come with you?”

“You’d do that?” Ethan asks. “You don’t know me.”

Mark shrugs, swallowing back guilt. “It’ll be fun,” he says. “Like seeing the city for the first time all over again. I don’t mind.”

Ethan is quiet for a long time. Mark begins to think that maybe all of this has been for nothing - maybe Ethan will say no, maybe he’ll just want to go home straight away and all of this will have been nothing. Then he smiles and bites his lip like he’s trying to contain his excitement and he looks so cute that Mark wants to brush his fingers over Ethan’s cheek.

“Thank you, Mark,” he says in a small, sincere voice. “Really.”

“Of course,” Mark smiles, and has to pull away before things get any more intense. He’s already having to avoid looking at Ethan’s mouth. “Any ideas about what you want to do?”

Ethan takes a moment to think it over, and then his mouth curls into a grin. “Well,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to dye my hair.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason writer’s block got in the way of this chapter which was rlly mean so uh I cut it in two and now there’s one more :’)
> 
> Hope you enjoy! <3

Mark is a little nervous by the time they’re actually in the salon. The possibility of Ethan getting recognised is too high for comfort - at least in Mark’s opinion - and he hasn’t exactly had time to prepare for that possibility. 

He’s even concerned, despite it maybe being an irrational fear, that there will be some sort of consequence for this. Ethan is a literal prince and he’s about to dye his hair blue under Mark’s watch. Even Mark knows that blue hair isn’t considered the height of professionalism, and he writes celebrity news articles for an online magazine. He keeps a watchful eye out for any trained guards hanging around, and tries to make sure there’s no laser light pointed at him at any time.

Ethan seems nervous as well, but his nerves seem to stem from excitement rather than dread. His knee is bouncing up and down under the counter and a red flush ruddies the slope of his cheekbones. Mark’s mouth is dry.

“Hey,” he says, catching Ethan’s attention in the mirror. “You sure about this? It’s a big decision.”

Ethan pushes his heels against the ground and spins the chair he’s sitting in. He’s having way too much fun with that thing and Mark can see the hair stylist eyeing them both with annoyance, but he can’t bring himself to tell Ethan to stop. Ethan’s unbridled joy at the simplest things - the things he’s probably never experienced before, Mark reminds himself - is hopelessly endearing. 

“I have literally never been more sure of anything,” Ethan grins, despite the way he taps his fingers in a stilted, staccato rhythm against the armrest. When he catches Mark looking he curls his hands into loose fists and tucks them away in his lap, as though he’s embarrassed. “Sorry,” he says, avoiding Mark’s gaze. “I couldn’t take my ADHD meds today. I get a little fidgety.”

Mark frowns. He tries to remember if that information has ever been released to the public but he can’t recall any articles about it. He makes a mental note to jot that down as soon as possible, and steadfastly ignores the little voice in his head telling him that this is immoral. Nobody becomes a successful reporter by being perfectly ethical all the time, he reasons with himself. 

“Okay,” the stylist says, interrupting their awkward silence by cutting in front of Mark and clapping his hands. “What am I doing for you today?”

“Um,” Ethan goes red so quickly that it’s almost alarming. He makes panicked eye contact with Mark in the mirror, like he’s expecting Mark to answer for him. Then, Mark watches Ethan’s expression change as though in slow motion. He sets his jaw and wets his lips and says, “I was hoping you– um, could you dye my hair blue. Please.”

The stylist raises an eyebrow in surprise and looks to Mark like he’s making sure he heard him correctly.

“Blue? That’s a big change.”

“Yeah,” Ethan nods resolutely. “That’s the point.”

Mark sneaks a few pictures as the stylist works. He has his phone hidden in his coat pocket with just the camera peeking out, and if anyone catches him he’ll just say he wanted to document Ethan’s hair, before and after. Ethan is too distracted to notice anyway, watching the stylist’s every move as he paints on the dye. Every so often he’ll make eye contact with Mark in the mirror and grin, and every time Mark will hurry to hide his phone and grin in response.

They spend almost two hours in the salon, waiting for Ethan’s hair to be finished. Towards the end he’s practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, bubbling with excitement and eager to see his new hair. Mark can’t help but find it sweet, but it’s a double edged sword because every time he catches himself feeling endeared by Ethan’s eagerness he remembers that he’s never been able to experience this freedom before, and then he remembers that he’s going to betray Ethan’s trust soon, and he feels like shit. 

Doesn’t stop him from taking the pictures though. Doesn’t stop him from emailing them to himself, just in case. 

“Mark!” Ethan calling his name startles him, and he puts his phone away as Ethan bounds towards him, all happy and giggling and golden-retriever-esque. 

“Wow,” Mark says, smiling despite himself. He reaches out almost unconsciously, meaning to brush his fingers through Ethan’s hair. It’s comes so naturally to Mark and he doesn’t know why - he’s never so touchy-feely with his other friends. He only really hugs people if he’s saying goodbye for a while. What is it about Ethan that breaks his boundaries down like that, without him even realising?

“I know, right?” Ethan says, ignorant to Mark’s ongoing identity crisis. “I knew it would be blue, but holy shit, it’s _blue!”_

Mark can’t help but laugh. “It really is,” he says, hesitating at the last minute and tucking his hand into his pocket at his side, where it belongs. Ethan’s eyes flit down to where he’s hiding his hand, but before Mark can really acknowledge it, he’s looking away again like nothing ever happened. 

“Do you like it?”

“It looks great,” Mark says, and he means it. He doesn’t know how Ethan’s parents will react - he does really, he’s just deliberately not thinking about it - but Ethan looks cute with his hair blue. “You look great.”

Ethan smiles softly and looks down, hand fluttering by his face for a moment before he rubs the back of his neck, all bashful and happy.

“What’s up?” Mark nudges their shoulders together.

“Nothing,” Ethan reassures him, except he isn’t very reassuring. “Honestly. I’m good. I feel great.”

“But…?” 

Ethan sighs. His smile has dimmed a little, but when he looks up at Mark from under his new blue fringe, there are crinkles around his eyes. He seems far more relaxed than he was this morning. 

“This is the first time I’ve ever been able to make choices about my life. Like… this is the first time _ever_ that I’ve been able to control my fucking appearance. How sad is that?”

Mark can’t help himself this time– his fingers brush through Ethan’s hair, the swoop of his fringe and then down over the delicate curve of his jawline. Ethan is silent and wide eyed, lips parted and just slightly damp, shiny under the abrasive lights of the salon. 

“I’m sorry,” Mark says, quiet, the rest of the world tuned out. 

“It’s okay.” Ethan’s voice cracks. He clears his throat and looks down, embarrassed, like the maintained eye contact is too intense for him. “God, you probably think I’m so pathetic.”

“I don’t,” Mark says quickly.

“You should. I am.”

Mark sighs. His hand drops to Ethan’s shoulder and he squeezes it, aiming for comforting but probably missing if the way Ethan seems to deflate is anything to go by. 

“What will your teachers think?” Mark asks, hesitant to bring up Ethan’s real life in case it spooks him.

Thankfully, at the mention of his ‘teachers’, Ethan actually seems to perk up. “Oh, they’ll hate it,” he says, smiling. “They’re _really_ controlling when it comes to how I look. Apparently I have to be presentable and smart at all times. They even choose what I wear to _bed,_ Mark! To _bed!”_

“The _monsters,”_ Mark gasps, grinning.

“Shut up!” Ethan laughs and digs his elbow into Mark’s side. Mark squirms away and holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, forcing his face back into a neutral expression. “For real, that sucks. I’m sorry you have to deal with that.” Ethan is giving him a sad smile and Mark is beginning to feel uncomfortable, the atmosphere between them bordering on genuine. Mark doesn’t want to get _emotional_ here. “I mean, I wouldn’t know,” he adds, before the silence stretches on for too long. “I sleep naked anyway. You should try it sometime. It’s liberating.”

He’s aiming for a laugh, but Ethan obviously isn’t prepared for it and it startles a coughing fit out of him. He flushes red from his neck to his cheeks and Mark can’t help but find it amusing.

Mark can feel Ethan’s eyes on him throughout his interaction with the stylist, as he hands over the money and slips his wallet back into his pocket. When he glances over, Ethan looks away hurriedly. 

“So,” Mark says, hooking his arm around Ethan’s shoulders and guiding him out of the salon. He feels a little awkward doing this - certainly if he tried under normal circumstances, he’d have armed guards tackling him to the floor in seconds - but Ethan doesn’t seem to mind. “Any ideas where you want to go next?”

Ethan takes a moment to answer. The tips of his ears are pink and his shoulders are set in a tense line under Mark’s arm, but he relaxes more and more with every passing second.

“Well,” he says, contemplative. “I’ve always wanted to go to a movie theatre. I’ve never been before.”

“To a _movie theatre?”_ Mark has to laugh. He’s not laughing at Ethan, but he still feels guilty when he sees Ethan’s self conscious scowl. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he adds. “I’m not trying to make fun of you. It’s just– you have the whole of New York City, and you want to go see a movie?”

“Yes!” Ethan insists. “I’ve never been before and I’ll probably never have the opportunity to go after this. I want the full experience. Popcorn, soda, everything.”

Mark huffs out a fond laugh. “Alright, man,” he says, shrugging. “Today’s your day. I’ll see what’s on.”

***

The nearest movie theatre is only about a ten minute stroll and it’s a nice day, so they walk and talk. Mark is eager to know more about Ethan - for his article, obviously - but it turns out that Ethan is equally interested in Mark.

“So what do you do, Mark?” He asks. They’re side by side on the pavement, so close that their arms brush with every step. 

“Hmm?” Mark frowns, confused and a little worried now that Ethan is asking questions.

“Like, do you have a job? What do you do?”

Mark snorts. “Yeah, I have a job,” he says ruefully. “Kinda hard to live here without one.”

“So what is it?”

“It’s… uh, I’m a writer,” Mark says eventually, gulping and hoping that Ethan won’t pick up on his discomfort. 

“Wait, really?” Ethan stops walking in the middle of the sidewalk. “You’re a writer? Mark, that’s so cool!”

He sounds so genuinely enthusiastic that Mark is already thinking up a backstory for himself, committing to his story. It’s not necessarily a lie. He’s just… bending the truth a little so that Ethan doesn’t become suspicious.

“Hey, thanks,” Mark says. 

“What kind of things do you write?”

“Oh,” Mark stuffs his hands into his pockets. “This and that, y’know? A bit of everything. This is the best place to do it. There’s inspiration everywhere.”

He doesn’t dare look over in case Ethan has picked up on his terrible answer - he doesn’t want his face to give anything away. The movie theatre is coming up on their left and Mark has never been so relieved. 

“Anything I’d have heard of?” Ethan asks finally, one last question as the queue for tickets moves forward. 

Mark smiles sadly. “Maybe soon,” he says. 

***

In the end, they buy tickets for an eighteen rated horror movie. Since the only films he can watch at ‘school’ are romcoms or old classics, Ethan demands to see the worst movie available and it turns out to be a slasher flick. Mark’s a little worried that Ethan will throw up or pass out, because he’s certainly not used to this kind of thing, but to Mark’s surprise he sits, bright eyed and excited, through the whole thing.

Mark has a bag of popcorn resting on his lap and every few minutes Ethan will reach across to take some without even looking. There’s hardly anybody else in the theatre so early in the day and they have almost the whole room to themselves, save for the teenagers at the back who are too busy talking to pay them much attention. 

Ethan himself isn’t paying Mark any attention, so Mark takes a risk and reaches for his phone. The lighting is terrible and Ethan’s face is mostly obscured by shadows, but every now and then there will be a burst of light on screen and Mark will get an okay picture of Ethan watching the movie, blues and pinks and reds all dancing across his face. He puts the phone away after a while, once he’s got what he needed. 

Mark watches Ethan in profile. He’s even prettier when he’s unaware like this. His blue hair glows under the low lights of the cinema and Mark just wants to reach out and touch: his face, his lips, his chin as he tilts Ethan’s face towards him...

He’s staring so intently, completely zoned out, that he doesn’t even notice when the movie ends until the lights come on, and Ethan turns to face him. 

“Holy shit,” he hisses, leaning closer to Mark even though there’s nobody else to disturb. “That was gross.”

Mark laughs. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Fuck yeah,” Ethan says. “This is incredible. I can’t believe this is what I’ve been missing out on my whole life.”

“Well hey, when the sequel comes out you’ll have to give me a call. We’ll go together.” Mark means it as a joke, but it makes sense when Ethan’s face falls. Mark has been leaning in as well and now they’re so close that he can see Ethan’s pupils dilate. 

“Yeah,” Ethan says, gaze flicking quickly down to Mark’s lips. Mark can’t help but do the same, and they’re so close, and Mark can feel Ethan’s breath warm on his face–

“Hey, uh, excuse me?” A voice to the side startles them both, and Mark whips around to see an employee standing at the exit, looking awkward. “You’re gonna have to leave.”

“Yeah, uh, sorry,” Mark says, shame faced in his hurry to leave. Ethan bites his lip and seems to be holding in laughter.

“I’m glad _someone_ found that so funny!” Mark whispers as soon as they’re out of earshot, and Ethan snorts. 

“I didn’t realise you were such a prude, Mark,” Ethan grins, and it’s so contagious that Mark just rolls his eyes and smiles. 

“I thought you were supposed to be all naive and innocent, what happened to that?” Mark asks, knowing it’ll piss Ethan off. It’s funny to wind him up. Mark hasn’t been this comfortable with another person in ages.

“Oh, fuck off,” Ethan grumbles, hitting Mark’s arm lightly. “I’m hungry.”

Mark thinks for a moment. “There’s an ice cream place down the street from here. They have a bunch of cool flavours, we should try it.”

“Are you going to make fun of me if I get a boring flavour?”

“Ethan,” Mark says. “If you pick vanilla then I will leave you there overnight.”

Ethan has a dimple, Mark notices, when his lips twitch into a smile.

“Whatever,” he says, taking Mark by surprise when he loops their arms together. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If your favourite ice cream flavour is vanilla..... no it isn’t <3

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! <3


End file.
